Gates of Whiterun
by Lumbering Cat
Summary: A peer into what I imagine to be the daily lives of a city guard and the Dovahkiin if the world Skyrim were to be even more highly immersive. Much more interesting, or perhaps a tad more boring? You judge.


**A/N: Here's a short fic I just wrote up. It took me just a quick two hours, so it's nothing much. I just just couldn't help but wonder what Skyrim would be like if I took an in-depth look at a city guard's (boring) daily life or the dragonborn's, so I let my imagination run. I'm wasn't entirely sure what to do with the fic, but here it is anyway. If this receives positive feedback, I might go on with another chapter. I don't know. But nevertheless, enjoy!**

* * *

Alrac stifled a yawn. Stamping his feet, he made a turn, then headed down from the rampart toward the walkway held up by a wooden frame by the half wall facade, which made the entrance to Whiterun appear higher up the hill than it really was to an observer from the farmlands below. Farms and little dwellings dotted the landscape for as far as he could see. To the far west, the mountains of The Reach weren't visible today, but on a clear day, they usually were, and it was a little something Alrac more than appreciated.

Guard duty was boring, and whenever he worked the gates, there was usually little or close to nothing of interest. The sights soon grew old, and the only people that ever requested passage to and fro the gates, were the same few hunters. Occasionally, wagons carrying mead and the such came along, but other than that, nothing else. It was only several months back when the civil war started that the farmers started bringing their carts to the gates of Whiterun, choosing to sell their hard-earned produce to the city rather than everyone else they used to trade with.

He stamped his feet again when he reached the southern end of the rampart and made his round back. There, when he finally reached the northern end and peered over the wall, he managed to catch a glimpse of a wagon before it disappeared under, out of his sight. Alrac bent over the wall on the other side and called out to the guard on duty below.

"Osrith! Go have a look."

There was a moment before the other replied. "Trade wagon - carrying food. Says he's come a long way from Rorikstead."

_A farmer? From Rorikstead? All the way to Whiterun? True, Rorikstead is a nice little hamlet, but for a farmer to make the journey from there just to sell his produce..._

"Hold on, I'm coming down," Alrac said as he descended the stairs and made his way to the little guard tower which was no longer what it used to be.

He met Osrith on the way and the two made their way towards the wagon. It was a small, wooden framed one, driven by a single horse. Nothing too interesting - almost identical to the ones every other merchant owned. The owner was a weathered man, his facial features chiseled. His clothes, fur instead of wool made Alrac raise an eyebrow.

"He don't got anything to prove his claim, Alrac," Osrith said. "Might have to search his wagon."

"Well?" the farmer demanded impatiently.

"I'm afraid we cannot let you pass," Alrac decided quickly. "Turn around and go."

"I have come this far to sell my produce the city with what I produce, and yet you turn me down because I lack evidence to my claim or own not a gate pass?" the farmer shook his head in disbelief. "To think we farmers are the ones who feed you city-dwelling rats!"

"Laws are laws, friend," the guard shook his head. "You may come along when you have proper documentation, otherwise, you can't go this way. Try some place else."

"Why, you daedra-damned Imperials! I see why the Stormcloaks have reason for war!"

"The Jarl does not stand on either side of this conflict," Orsrith shook his head. "Move along now, if you will."

When the farmer said nothing but remained where he was, Alrac gave in. There was no sense in making him turn away. True, laws were meant to be followed, but that was for the fact that order and peace had to be maintained. Trade wagons such as his had to have authorization before entry, and such was regulated to prevent the prices of certain, if not most items of produce from being sold too cheap. It simply didn't make sense to have a farmer who lived right by Whiterun, intending to sell his goods to the city to pay the same road taxes as one who, like this one claimed, had come from Rorikstead. The people would complain - and Alrac thought it was right for the Jarl to impose such taxes and tariffs upon the people.

Even so, to be generating food produces at Rorikstead meant there was no need for those by Whiterun to even think of heading over to Rorikstead to sell their produce, and the little village could support itself, and if anything, revenue would come from trade with the other holds. That appeared the only reason for any merchant to want to pay a visit to Rorikstead, otherwise, if any trade came in from other regions, the merchants usually came straight to Whiterun. To have a farmer from Rorikstead here wanting to sell his produce just struck him as odd. The man had to be desperate. Perhaps the little village was running low on revenue, with the civil war and other similar troubles about.

Alrac sighed. "Look here, friend. I'll let you pass, but do not breathe a word of this to anything. We'll run a check on your wagon first."

"I... I thank you, sir! You are most kind - please, forget the words I have said out of spite!"

At that, neither Alrac or Orsrith said anything. The two glanced at each other and proceeded to check the back of the wagon. True enough, there were baskets of crops - mostly tomatoes and cabbages. With some effort, Alrac shifted a basket of tomatoes to one side of the wagon to give himself enough space to check the other baskets further inside. When he was satisfied that there was nothing wrong, he stepped back and jumped off the back of the wagon. When he did, the loose boarding by the edge of the wagon floor went partly along with him.

The guard stumbled over, but managed to keep his balance. Behind him, he heard Orsrith laugh. Silently, he muttered a curse.

"Alrac," Orsrith's voice called out to him.

He turned, albeit more carefully than ever before. "What is it?"

The other gestured at the board, which he shifted with some effort before revealing a hidden compartment under the wagon. When Alrac stepped over to peer inside, he immediately identified several vials of...

"By Ysmir! You blighted _skooma_ dealer!" Alrac made his way toward the front of the wagon.

At that, the man spat a curse and drew an iron sword and brandished it at the guard before leaping from the wagon seat, lunging at him.

There was a metallic sound of his own short sword being drawn as Alrac raised his shield to deflect the blow. He grunted as he felt the force of the impact driving him back a step. There came another blow faster than he could react, but with his shield raised, he blocked it all the same, but could feel himself being drained of his energy. The man was strong.

He hazarded a quick swipe with his own sword, but his opponent's blade met his, the sound of clashing steel ringing.

He watched as his opponent raised his blade, ready to strike a blow bound to split him apart. Then was the moment it happened - he could only watch as another steel blade erupted from the man's chest. The skooma dealer gasped, then let out a sickly, wet groan as he was lifted into the air, the blade impaled through his chest driving deeper through. It was only when his killer was sure that he was dead that he pulled his blade from the man's lifeless corpse and let him drop like a ragdoll to the ground, pool of dark red beginning to form.

Alrac remained where he stood, too shocked to react. He only found himself able to speak when he heard Orsrith's voice once more.

"Thane Inghas," Orsrith said, saluting the man. "With respects."

_Dragonborn!_ Alrac wanted to call out, but he didn't. Instead, he inclined his head respectfully.

"Many thanks for your assistance."

"He drew a blade against a guard," the great Nord smiled wryly. "He had to die. I am sure Jarl Balgruff has made it clear enough - I hope I am not breaking any rules."

Alrac raised an eyebrow. The man was remarkably well-spoken, despite his appearance. For one who looked like he'd come from the mines in the rougher parts of Skyrim, the Thane of Whiterun sure spoke smoothly.

"No," Alrac swallowed. "Certainly not."

"Ah," was the reply.

With that, Inghas made his way to the gate and disappeared behind it, just as suddenly as he'd arrived. Alrac sighed.

"Come, Orsrith. We'd better have this mess cleaned up and have the wagon delivered to whoever tends to the city supplies."

* * *

The blonde trader smiled her pretty smile. "Why? Are you afraid I'd run off with another man?"

"No, Brytha, of course not," the Thane of Whiterun frowned.

"Hmm?" she raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

"I just thought..." Inghas considered his words carefully. "As thane, I simply think it's just not something the people would enjoy seeing - I mean-"

"Oh. So there's something wrong with you dating the daughter of a trading house's owner that you must hide from the folk?"

"No, you get me wrong, I-"

The woman laughed. "Don't worry, I was merely kidding you."

"Two ales, a fowl and beef with mushrooms. That's twelve in total," the serving lady set the food upon the table.

Inghas reached for his coins before Brytha could. Fishing out fourteen, he placed them nicely upon the serving lady's tray. A smile appeared. "Enjoy your meal."

"You didn't have to pay for mine," Brytha said when the serving lady left.

"You never let me do that," Inghas smiled.

The two dined in comfortable silence for a while before he spoke again. "You know how the folk think of our relationship-"

"I do," Brytha nodded, then swallowed before going on. "What? Just because you are Thane of Whiterun, some Nordic legendary _dragonborn_, and me a mere commoner means that we shouldn't be dating?"

"That's not what I meant, but..." he paused, but when he couldn't think of anything to say, sipped from his mug of ale. "I'm sorry, I shall not speak another word of this."

"I understand it's hard for you, Inghas," she said, then took another bite of the pheasant breast. "... The food is good."

"As is mine," he nodded. "How are things going over your father's trading house?"

"It's not getting any better. Father thinks he should engage in more trade with the Black-briar mead brewery. I'm trying to convince him into doing otherwise. Maven Black-briar is... dangerous."

"But with how things are going right now..." he continued on her behalf.

"Mhmm," she nodded.

"What about you? You haven't spoken much about yourself for some time," she tried to drive him away from the topic.

He gulped the beef down with some ale before he spoke. "I had to kill a man who drew a blade on the guards earlier this morning. Otherwise, I'd like to think things are going fine. I'm still avoiding my meeting with the Greybeards - you know how that is."

Brytha nodded thoughtfully as she finished the last of her food. Inghas gulped down what was left of his ale and sighed, leaning back on his chair heavily. "I think I miss life as a farm helper. Funny."

"But you can't help it," she gave gave a sympathetic smile. "You're _dragonborn_."

There was a laugh from her.

"Strange heritage indeed, but nothing you should make fun of," he smiled. "I could probably shout you right out of being a trader and being my consort instead."

The two laughed. "You wouldn't, Inghas. You wouldn't."

He gave a mock sigh as he rose from his seat. "Looks like I have to do it the hard way."

"You'll have to work for me," she gave a playful smile.

He shook his head as they descended the steps outside the Bannered Mare.

"I enjoyed tonight," he said.

"So did I," she returned. "Will you be here next Middas?"

"As always," Inghas smiled. "I will be there to fetch you."

"I'll see you, then," she leaned over and brushed her lips against his cheek. He pulled her into an embrace before they parted.

* * *

"A pity," Orsrith was saying as he gulped down his ale, seated across Alrac in the barracks. "A pity..."

"Hmm?" Alrac raised an eyebrow.

"A pity the days of my prime are over."

"Why so? You always seem proud of your past."

"Well, you know how my adventuring days are over," Orsrith gave an ironic smile.

"... Everyone's heard that one, Orsrith," Alrac scowled. "Don't start."

"Thane Inghas? Hah! I used to be an adventurer like him..."

"You're drunk, Orsrith!"


End file.
